


ni'nas'sal'in

by alynshir



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/F, Gen, Inquisitor death reaction, Queer Cassandra Pentaghast, Sad, hahahaha why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3728131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynshir/pseuds/alynshir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little red flower wilts and dies. The rest of the garden greatly disapproves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ni'nas'sal'in

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Dragon Age.
> 
> All elven used is from either Dragon Age lore or @FenxShiral

Vivienne demands the truth when she first hears it. Surely this is a ploy, she thinks, a falsity designed to rattle her. She won't have it, she won't, because Madame De Fer protects her allies, and she uses her most velveteen voice when she threatens to shatter the messenger into a thousand pieces for daring to tell her that her _friend_ is dead. The look in the poor boy's eyes when she is but a shiver away from him, though, tells her that this masquerade is too real to fake. And then a winter spell has taken grasp of her lungs and chest and heart and Vivienne cannot breathe, because she has failed her friend, she is gone, she is gone, she is gone.

Blackwall breaks a lot of things after the messenger leaves with shoulders still shaking from granite glares. He breaks a training dummy, he breaks a sword, he breaks the half-dried wreath of flowers that she had woven for him. His knuckles are bleeding and his palms are torn open by the time he's able to see through saltwater again. He kneels amongst the brittle, broken petals with his brittle, broken heart later, letting them slip through his brittle, broken fingers. Just as she did.

Dorian smiles at the messenger when he hears the news. He thinks this is funny - clearly he's been mistaken for some other charming man with a deceased lady friend. All of his friends are in the prime of health, battleborn and ready to face whatever villain dared confront them; surely he wouldn't lose one of them now, when things are settling down. But the messenger doesn't stammer out that there's been a mistake and so sorry, ser, and then Dorian can't think anymore because if she's gone, then - then -

Cole's thoughts are a shambling jumble of words and thoughts, but he cries as he feels the echo of the pain she had felt, and nobody is there to hold him close like others do to make their friends hurt less, because nobody wanted to hold a spirit close except for her. _Warm, wet, wounded, tell her I love her. Cracked, crying, crimson, ma abelas, ir lath ma, ir lath ma, ma mah'vir._

Sera cries. She's never been a pretty crier, but this time she doesn't try and stay calm, because she's gone, she's gone, the little gingersnap with the soft lips and the bright laugh is gone, and Sera can't even imagine what a day without her will be like. Sera cries and then she's shooting and hacking and punching dummies until her hands are raw because someone has to pay for this, someone's got to bleed, someone's got to suffer for taking her best friend away.

Varric has delivered more of these obituaries than he'd ever have liked to in his lifetime, so when the messenger shows up with an expression to rival banshees, he doesn't demand answers, other ways, escape clauses, alternate endings. He just pretends that his eyes aren't watering and sends the messenger away, putting ink to work once more. Now, to best embroider the tale of the little elf that smiled, into paper for the rest of the world to know.

Iron Bull doesn't say much for a while after the messenger leaves, but when he does he can barely get the words out. His tongue is lead and doesn't want the ale he'd rather lose himself in. It's sour without her there to wrinkle her nose at the taste and giggle at the antics of the people who've had too much.

Solas does not need a scratched, frightened messenger to push through briars and brambles to bring him the news that she who saw him has passed. He knew the moment she stepped foot in the Fade to become part of it, and he's there with open arms for her to stagger into as she clutches at injuries that no longer exist. She cannot stay long, she cannot stay long, and even as he holds her close and she cries with fade tears he can feel her dissipating in his grasp. _Tell her I love her,_ she begs, _please_. He promises and promises each time she asks, and finally she is naught more than a shimmer of a being and the feeling of her fingertips fade away and she is gone. Only then does he let any grief knock down his pride.

Cassandra sits in silence, and the messenger doesn't have to tell her what she already knows. She knows. She may as well have been there, she should have been there, why wasn't she there? _No, vhenan,_ she had insisted, _this is for me to do, it is too dangerous._ Cassandra had even tried to follow, but she had begged her to stay, pleaded and how could she say no after that?

She should have said no.

Cassandra holds the battered book of poetry from that first, that fairytale night. She clutches that book to her chest that night and hears the little elf's voice whispering the gilded words in her ear, whispering those words and more. _Ma lath, ma sa'lath, ma'arlath. Ma mah'vir, ma sa'lath._ Without her, Cassandra doesn't want another tomorrow.

Perhaps the night will stay and she can pretend this is all just a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> so sorry for this


End file.
